


cut him out in little stars

by thorgasmed



Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:42:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorgasmed/pseuds/thorgasmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	cut him out in little stars

**Author's Note:**

> if you're wondering why this looks so familiar, it's because it's a reupload. i've had to edit a lot, and now i'm happy with it.

**Wednesday, April 10th, 1912.**

 

The sun shone gloriously, warming the pier and moderating the cool ocean breezes. Hundreds of people milled about, waving goodbye, dragging along children and luggage, waiting in never-ending lines. There was too much noise and the air smelled too much like salt. It was still early in the morning, too early if you ask Thomas, who yawned as he stepped out of the car that dropped him off at Berth 44. He wished desperately for a coffee.

 

“Isn’t it grand?” His mother, having just arrived in a separate car, curled a gloved hand around his shoulder and looked appraisingly at the ship before them. “They say it’s unsinkable.”

  
It truly was grand. It must’ve been nearly a thousand feet long and over a hundred feet high, and was said to be the most magnificent passenger liner yet. It was the height of comfort and luxury, and there was set to be two thousand people aboard for its maiden voyage. Thomas knew they would be amongst some of the wealthiest people in the world for the next seven days and expected to mingle with them; a thought that made him sick with anxiety.

 

“Mmm.” He murmured noncommittally, tucking a generous tip into breast pocket of the man he instructed to take their luggage to the main terminal. He pulled his pocket watch out and took notice of the time. It would depart in roughly an hour. With a sigh, he followed closely behind his mother as they made their way up the gangplank. 

 

Once inside the ship, they were greeted by a man who asked for their names. “Thomas William Hiddleston.” He gestured to his mother. “And Diana Patricia Hiddleston.”

 

The man nodded, checking his list. He took their tickets with a broad smile. “Welcome to the RMS Titanic, Sir and Madam. We hope you enjoy your stay.”

 

Everything still smelled of fresh paint. The china had yet to be used and the sheets had never been slept in. They were led to their respective cabins, set across the hall from each other. Thomas helped his mother lift a few suitcases before unpacking his own in his stateroom. The suite was spacious and elegantly decorated in reds and gold, with a large fireplace at one end of the room and a plush chaise in front of it. It was lavish, yes, but when one was so accustomed to that level of extravagance, very little could be regarded as impressive.

 

When the maids and butlers had cleared out of his way, he threw himself onto his bed and shut his eyes, wondering how long he could get away with napping for before his mother would demand their presence on the Promenade Deck. He groaned, sitting up for a moment to slip off his suit jacket and kick off his shoes. He stuck a finger into the knot of his tie to loosen it before lying back down.

 

Last night, a going-away party had been thrown in his honour, and while it seemed like a fine idea at the time, had ended up robbing him of much needed rest. He hoped to rectify that as he rolled over onto his stomach and let the movement of the ship lull him to sleep.

 

||

 

He was gently awoken by someone thumping insistently on his back. “Darling. Darling, wake up.”

 

Thomas grunted. “Must I?”

 

“Yes.” His mother smoothed the back of his collar and patted him between the shoulder blades. “I’ve let you nap long enough. Come, dinner is to be served in an hour, and I should like you to be washed up and ready soon.” He felt the bed shift slightly as she stood, and heard her footsteps as she crossed the room. “Thomas.” There was a warning tone in her voice that made him grimace.

 

“Mother?”

 

“You should be pleased. Amelia is a lovely girl. You’re doing the right thing.” The door opened and shut softly behind her.

 

 _Amelia_. Thomas stretched his arms above his head and struggled to his feet. She was the young heir to a major oil company in western America, whom he had never met and was betrothed to. It was a beautifully orchestrated business deal between her family and his, who maintained their fortune with gold mines in California. They had sent a few dozen letters back and forth to each other over the past three years but it was hardly a romance. In the few years at college that he had tried his hand at courting women, he had been egregiously unsuccessful; not even his money could keep a girl from becoming bored of him, and frankly, he could not blame them. He put in very little effort as none of them struck him in the way he hoped they would. Love was highly spoken of in the world of literature but he found the real-life experience to be lacking. He hoped desperately that his feelings towards Amelia would change when they met so he would not be trapped in a stale, loveless marriage, but he still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of it all.

 

But he had a prestigious reputation to upkeep, a family name to honour. Since youth, he was always told to behave with dignity, with the Hiddleston status in mind. There was little he could do for his own personal enjoyment, which he berated himself for thinking, as he should be glad to be from his family. Proud, even. Hypothetically speaking he had everything he would want, but upon reflection, he knew he had given up a lot for it. But it would be worth it, he was assured. He was the little boy who had no friends because he was learning five different languages with a private tutor, who had never played football but had thoroughbred horses when he played polo. He could give up a few adolescent indulgences for the bigger picture, he told himself. He was sitting in a first class cabin on the most luxurious liner in the world and it suddenly felt like a slave ship.

 

After drawing a bath, he shaved quickly and selected a light waistcoat, dark tailcoat and pressed trousers. His shoes could’ve used some shining but there was hardly time. Thomas combed a small amount of product into his unruly curls, styling them into submission. He slipped his tin of cigarettes into his pocket and headed out for some fresh air.

 

The Titanic was massive and was quite easy to get lost in, as he experienced a number of wrong turns and dead ends. Finally, he was directed to the deck by a passing steward, as he wasn’t quite yet in the mood to socialize. The early evening sea air was cool and calming, and he breathed in deeply. He stood against the rail, watching the endless stretch of water ahead of them as he lit a cigarette and flicked the used match over the side of the ship.

 

“Smoking’s a terrible habit, mate.” A deep voice caught Thomas off guard and he nearly dropped the lit cigarette down his shirt.

 

“Oh, is it?” He scoffed, composing himself.

 

A man slighter taller than he, sidled up beside him. “A well-groomed man like yourself should know that.” Thomas turned to get a good look at him. He had broad shoulders and thick, strong arms, and a light, scruffy beard to go with his unkempt blond hair. He was dressed simply, in working man’s clothes, and undoubtedly had the calloused hands to match. But his soft blue eyes, framed in thick lashes, and the sleepy grin spread across his face made him seem gentler than his rough appearance conveyed. He must’ve been quite young, though well-muscled. His accent was undoubtedly American.

 

Thomas took another long drag, just to be cheeky. “And yet, here I am.” He tilted his head back, blowing the smoke up into the air. “Cheers.”

 

The man laughed, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned his back against the railing. “We’re on the Ship of Dreams and the best way you can think of to spend your time is smoking on the deck?”

 

“I’ll seize the day tomorrow.” Thomas shrugged a shoulder.

 

“I’ll hold you to that, Mr. Hiddleston.”

 

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know my name?”

 

He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, feeling around for a moment. “Ah.” He pulled out a long silver chain, and at the end was Thomas’s pocket watch.

 

Thomas gaped, patting down his own clothes and remembering that he hadn’t thought to bring his pocket watch when he was in a rush to change for dinner. “What—where did you get that—how on earth—”

 

The man dropped it into Thomas’s free hand. “You boarded right before I did. You dropped it on the gangplank, I was hoping to run into you and return it. And it’s got your name engraved on the back, you know.”

 

Thomas inspected it carefully, cigarette dangling between his lips. The clock was still ticking away and there didn’t seem to be any damage. Satisfied, he tucked it safely away.

 

“Um, I’m speechless.” He admitted sheepishly. “I can’t even begin to express my thanks.” He smiled, tossing his cigarette butt into the ocean and extending a hand. “That was a sinfully expensive gift from my grandfather before he passed, God bless him.”

 

His hand was firm and warm. “No need to thank me. Getting a chance to talk to you was enough.”

 

Thomas felt his face grow hot. He didn’t know what to make of that. “Yes. Well, thank you, regardless.” He had almost offered a small reward but the man seemed to be fine without one.

 

He bowed, not taking his eyes off Thomas, and he felt the blush all the way up to his ears. “My pleasure.” He turned to leave. “Enjoy your night, Mr. Hiddleston.”

 

“Wait.” Thomas quickly checked the time again. “You wouldn’t happen to have dinner plans, would you?”

 

He chuckled. “Soup and bread downstairs, but I think I could bear to miss it.”

 

“Well, I didn’t catch your name but I must insist that you join me.” He conveniently neglected to mention the fact that they would be dining with his family’s high society entourage, a group of incredibly dull people who worked with his father or had tea and gossiped with his mother. They meant well, but they weren’t exactly his desired company. As forward as it may have been, throwing someone new into the fray could be interesting enough to get him through the evening. This man seemed charming enough, and was certainly easy on the eyes, not that he would admit that aloud. “Allow me to repay my debt to you.”

 

The man regarded him for a moment. “Hemsworth.” He said finally. “Christopher Hemsworth.”

 

“So, Mr. Hemsworth. How about it?” Thomas grinned. “If you’ll care to meet me at the top of the Grand Staircase in fifteen minutes...”

 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Christopher winked before he walked off, leaving Thomas feeling brave and nervous all at once. He shook his head at himself, taking care not to watch Christopher walk away for too long. Instead, he lit up another cigarette. He allowed himself to savour this one, watching the smoke dissolve in the wind like he so wished to do. Maybe this night wouldn’t be as tedious as he had anticipated.

 

Thomas eventually made his way back inside the ship. Dinner was to start in a few minutes and Christopher was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had changed his mind, which disappointed Thomas more than he would care to admit. He drummed his fingers against the banister, feigning an interest in the oak panelling and detailed carvings of the ornate staircase in between discreet glances around him.

 

Five minutes passed, then ten. It was past the point of being fashionably late and he knew he’d be getting an earful from his mother later for being so impolitely tardy. Thomas sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it in frustration, descending the stairs alone to the Bridge Deck.

 

He was escorted into the first class dining area, nodding curtly to everyone as he took his seat at the head of the table. It seated twelve; associates of his father’s, family friends, business partners. The who’s who of the ship, and all furtively glancing at him in disapproval.

 

His mother fixed him with a glare. “Kind of you to join us.” She said, spearing a slice of potato with her fork. “We were beginning to think you were growing weary of us.”

 

“My apologies.” Thomas mumbled quietly. “I lost track of time.”

 

“I saw you.” A man he recognized from frequent dinner parties in England, leaned forward in his chair with a bemused smile. “On the deck, with some tall gentleman from third-class.”

 

A red haired woman, possibly someone’s new mistress, chuckled as she sipped her wine. “Interesting place to make friends.”

 

Thomas pursed his lips, eyeing his plate with distaste. “He returned something I had dropped, actually.” He reached for another cigarette. He paused, remembering what Christopher had said about them, but proceeded to light it anyway. “Makes him an honest and respectable man, if you ask me.”

 

“Surely he was hoping for a reward.” Another man interjected. “Trust me, if they know you have the money to spare, they’ll feel no guilt in trying to get their hands on some.”

 

“He didn’t ask for anything.” Thomas said flatly, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Enough of this, there are more suitable dinner topics that don’t involve the deep analysis of a man’s kind gesture, aren’t there?”

 

“Quite right.” His mother smiled pleasantly. “Like your upcoming wedding.”

 

Thomas swallowed. “Of course.”

 

“In a week’s time you’ll be happily married and then you’ll finally be able to give me the grandchildren I’ve been hoping for.” She continued, raising her glass. “Such a wonderful arrangement.”

 

The man to the left of him patted him on the shoulder. “She’s stunning, you’re a very lucky man.”

 

He smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

 

Fortunately, the conversation drifted onto other topics, and Thomas sat back idly, pecking at his food and throwing in a few words here and there. He tried his best not to dwell on the fact that he was deserted by a man who could very well be some sort of vagrant criminal but couldn’t somehow shake the feeling. His thoughts were being invaded by the memory of a piercing blue-eyed stare and it was enough to make him thoroughly irritated with himself.

 

“Are you feeling ill, darling?” His mother asked loudly. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

 

“A bit seasick, I suppose.” Thomas downed his cold water and shivered. “I think I need some air, if you’ll excuse me.” He said apologetically, standing and bowing as he left. “See you all tomorrow.”

 

He sidestepped around the other tables, smoothing a hand through his hair as he finally reached the exit. He pushed the doors open and was stopped by an attendant. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hiddleston, but this man has been looking for you.” He motioned to someone standing a few feet away. “He says he’s your dinner guest?” The man turned around, and indeed, it was Christopher.

 

A clean shaven Christopher in decently clean and well-pressed trousers with a positively wicked smile on his face as he walked towards him.

 

“Thomas.”

 

“Christopher.” He said tersely.

 

“Have you eaten already?”

 

“Yes. I ate dinner. The dinner I had invited you to out of the goodness of my heart, that you accepted and failed to make an appearance to.”

 

He raised his hands in surrender. “I said I would see what I could do. I never said yes. But fair enough.”

 

Thomas found he had nothing to say to that, so he simply stood there with his chin raised. “Well then why are you dressed like that?” He said finally.

 

“The night’s still young.” Christopher reasoned. “There’s still so much we could be doing.”

 

“We?” Thomas asked incredulously.

 

“Yes, sir.” He bent down to pick up the duffle bag on the floor that Thomas hadn’t noticed. “I think you’re in need of a little fun.”

 

“I really shouldn’t.” He said gently. But before he could argue, Christopher was already nudging him down the corridor.

 

The walk was long but he felt at ease, with Christopher happily whistling while Thomas observed his surroundings. As they ventured deeper into the ship, the halls—spacious and adorned with chandeliers and new paintings—began to give way to corridors that were narrow and plain. People hurried to and fro, looking at him with wonderment as if to ask what he was doing so far from first class. He hadn’t yet explored the boat, nor did he really plan on it, but the second- and third-class areas were notable. He wasn’t sure if he could get on with having to share such squalid conditions with so many people, and wondered how Christopher did it all with a smile on his face. It might’ve seemed silly to consider him admirable in that sense, so Thomas kept that thought to himself.

 

Christopher held a door open for him, and Thomas found himself walking out onto the bow of the ship. The deck was empty and the view was divine; miles and miles of dark ocean spread all around them with the inky black sky above, peppered with bright stars. “What—”

 

“Romantic, isn’t it?”

 

Thomas stopped, looking to him with wide eyes. He laughed heartily. “Relax, your highness. It was a joke.”

 

His cheeks were tinged pink. “You’re a very forward man.”

 

“Well, it certainly got your attention, so I daresay that’s not a bad thing.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Thomas strode towards the very front of the ship. “I suppose it’s nice out here.”

 

“It’s beautiful, actually.”

 

He turned to look at Christopher, who was already looking back at him. Their eyes met for a moment until Thomas cleared his throat and gestured towards the canvas bag he was swinging at his side. “What’s that?”

 

“A gift. An apology, I suppose, courtesy of the third-class kitchens.” He sank down to the floor and began to untie his shoelaces. “Come on, then.” He patted the space next to him.

 

Thomas looked sourly upon the deck. “Really? How old are you?”

 

Christopher placed his shoes and socks on the other side of him and pulled out two beers. From the sounds of the clinking in the bag, there were a few more. “Not nearly as old as you, sir.” He said coyly.

 

“I’m only twenty two—” Thomas muttered, to which Christopher interrupted, “Nineteen, if you must know.”

 

That satisfied him, and he gingerly sat down and slipped off his shoes. He was handed a bottle.

 

“To new beginnings.” Christopher suggested, and Thomas nodded in agreement. They took a swig and looked out at the expanse of dark sky and water ahead of them. “So, you can start by telling me what brought you to the legendary RMS Titanic.”

 

Thomas snorted. “Same as everyone else, just trying to get to America.”

 

“What’s waiting for you over there? If you don’t mind my asking.”

 

He worried his bottom lip. “Business... Family... My future.”

 

Christopher swished a mouthful of beer around in his mouth in contemplation. “That’s awfully important.”

 

“It is.” Thomas quickly changed the subject in fear that Christopher would press for details. “So what about you, are you here alone? You’re quite young...”

 

He looked up at the sky and grinned. “Yeah, it’s just me. I’ve been going wherever the wind takes me, you could say. But uh, I’m finally going home.”

 

“Oh?” Thomas nudged him. “Go on.”

 

“New York, if you want to get specific.” He looked to the distance as if he could see it from where he sat, then took a deep breath as he settled down to start his story. “I left home two years ago. I wanted... Well, I don’t know what I wanted. I like to draw, you know? I wanted to see the world and learn from it. But my folks, they were in good hands with my two brothers. They had real jobs, so my family had a decent life. So I found myself overseas, sketching prostitutes and whoever else had some spare change to waste on it. Glamorous, huh?”

 

Staying silent, Thomas snuck a glance at Christopher, only to catch him looking at him as well. He looked away, but not quickly enough to miss the corner of Christopher’s mouth turn up into a bemused smirk. “Sorry.”

 

“It’s fine, Thomas. That’s the life of an artist for you.” He leaned back, supporting himself on his elbows. Thomas was drawn to the long, lean lines of Christopher’s body, then hunched forward and focused on guzzling more beer to keep his mind from wandering. “Anyway,” He continued quietly. “My mother’s health isn’t so good these days. Apparently it’s gotten worse, so I figure it’s time come home.”

 

“That’s terrible.” Thomas said gently. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 

“Thank you.” Christopher looked back up at the sky. “I’m just hoping I can help out at home, maybe bring some more money in for medicine, things like that.”

 

Thomas laid his hand on Christopher’s knee, retracting it a moment later. “I’m sure you’ll be able to.”

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, and the winds picked up enough to make Tom shiver and frown. After handing him a second beer, Christopher pulled a heavy wool jacket out of his bag and draped it over Thomas’s shoulders.

 

“You really don’t have to do that.” He began to shrug it off, but Christopher slid it back onto him.

 

“But I want to. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

 

Thomas relented, turning the collar up and finding himself surprised by the soft, spicy smell it carried. He nearly felt embarrassed for expecting it to stink, but it was actually quite warm and nice. “Are you certain?”

 

“I’m not cold. You are.” He maintained. “It’s only polite.”

 

 _Polite_. Remembering his manners, he chewed at the inside of his cheek as he tried to find the words. “I don’t have any special talents or skills or anything like that.” He stated. “Well, I know how to speak French and a little German. I can get by with Italian, I suppose. And I’m fairly handy with a rifle but I despise hunting.” He bit his tongue before he could blurt out that the sight of blood made him faint.

 

Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

“I’m telling you about myself.” Thomas shrugged. “You told me things, now I’m telling you, too.”

 

“But you’re not telling me everything?” He smiled.

 

Thomas shook his head. “I like to keep an air of mystery about me, keeps me from getting boring.”

 

Christopher accepted that answer, laughing cheerfully, and Thomas decided he quite liked the sound of it. They traded story after story, of the awful schools Thomas had attended, the week Christopher had spent lost in Poland, how the first time Thomas had ever snuck out of the house was the same night he crashed his father’s Ford into a fountain, and the two sisters who were so hell-bent on getting Christopher to marry one of them that they would take turns strolling past his bedroom window at night, completely nude.

 

It had been some time since he could unwind this way. There was always something to be done, people to impress, and a strict schedule to adhere to. He felt a little like he was melting, as if the edges of everything had softened and there was more room to breathe. They kept chattering away, discussing politics, religion, art, literature; all of which he was surprised that Christopher knew quite a bit about. He was making it rapidly clearer that though he wasn’t a man of high breeding, he wasn’t someone to be underestimated. 

They challenged each other’s views and opinions, making for friendly debates that had them both in high spirits, and after they waxed lyrical about whatever came to mind _(“You know Shakespeare?”—“Of course I know Shakespeare, Thomas. I’m an artist.”_ ) they enjoyed sated, inspired silences.

 

The good conversation and six beers had Thomas very relaxed, draining the previous tension in his muscles. Although he was tired all over again, the tingly, fuzzy feeling in his stomach made it difficult for him to stop grinning. Christopher’s voice was deliciously soothing, and it was a delight to listen to him name constellations that Thomas hadn’t even heard of. “Crater. It’s shaped like a cup.” He said, pointing above them. “That’s Leo.” He continued, pointing elsewhere. “Ursa Major, obviously, just there.” He pointed again.

 

“I’m glad you made me come out here.” Thomas said suddenly. “I needed it.”

 

“I know.” Christopher clinked the necks of their beers together. “I’m surprised you didn’t put up more of a fight, to be honest.”

 

“I can appreciate a good adventure now and again.”

 

“You trust me that much already?”

 

Thomas considered it for a moment. “I could.” He decided, feelings his cheeks go pink.

 

“You should.” He whispered.

 

“I’ll sleep on it.”

 

“Getting tired?”

 

Thomas stifled a yawn behind his hands. “Now that you mention it, it’s probably late, I should get going...” He trailed off, but made no effort to move until Christopher nodded and started collecting the empty bottles in his bag. He went to take the jacket off but Christopher laid a hand on the small of his back to still him.

 

“You can keep it for now, if you’d like.”

 

“But—”

 

“Honestly, don’t be difficult.” He shook his head. “I’ll see you again, won’t I?”

 

Thomas nodded, fingers curling and uncurling in the too-long sleeves. “That would be alright. Yeah. Yeah, you will.”

 

They rose at the same time, grunting and complaining about the stiffness in their legs and the soreness of their backsides. “Also, I should mention that I’m proud of you for not having smoked once tonight.” Christopher beamed at him.

 

It was only then Thomas had realized that as well. “Well.” He patted the pocket that held his cigarettes. “What do you know? You’ve cured me.” He teased.

 

“Why do you do it, anyway?” Christopher hoisted the canvas bag over his shoulder and cocked his head to the side. “It’s a habit for cranky old business men.”

 

“Stress.” Thomas admitted sheepishly. “I started about three years ago. It helps me unwind, I think.”

 

“But you didn’t have one all night.” He asserted.

 

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

 

“Huh.” He smirked. “Interesting.”

 

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

 

“It’s nothing.” Christopher said airily. “Do you need me to walk you in?”

 

“No, I’m all the way at the other end of the ship; it’s too far out of your way.”

 

“Suit yourself.” He held his hand out to shake. Thomas didn’t have time to appreciate his solid grip when Christopher was raising his hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against Thomas’s knuckles.

 

“I beg your pardon?” What are you doing?”

 

Christopher’s eyes twinkled. “Saying goodnight, thanking you for your company. I thought I was being nice.”

 

Thomas huffed. “Will you stop that?”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“Being so... Brazen.” He scowled at their still-joined hands, hesitating to let go. Then he wondering why he was hesitating, and why he was so confused about it altogether.

 

“Only when you stop being so responsive.” Christopher kissed his hand again before he dropped it, straightened to his full, impressive height, and nodded deeply. “’Till next time.” He murmured, looking annoyingly pleased with himself as he took his leave.

 

Thomas allowed himself to watch him walk away this time, pursing his lips and wrapping his arms around himself in the cool night air. He stayed rooted to the spot, contemplating a cigarette but found he didn’t have the nerve to light one.

 

||

 

When he was finally in bed, he tucked Christopher’s coat away with his own, and failed miserably at not dwelling on how the back of his hand was still tingling. Once again, the waves rocked him into a peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i encourage you to yell at me here or on [tumblr](http://thorgasmed.tumblr.com) to update this. please. i'm very lazy and i need the constant pestering. unbeta'd as usual. title taken from romeo and juliet, summary taken from the bible, song of solomon 8:7. (i'm not religious. it's just pretty.)


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